Games
by Aki13th
Summary: A short little NightwingOC oneshot for a friend. Dick Grayson has a thing for games.


**This was a challenge from a friend. It's personalized to her tastes (and, inevitably, some of mine) but I hope you enjoy it. I had fun writing Dick Grayson, so hopefully he's in character.**

"Again?" Superboy's incredulity was almost tangible. "You're telling me that _amateur_ thief got away _again?"_

Shrugging, Dick Grayson made a rather miserable attempt not to grin. "What can I say? The diversion kept me busy longer than I expected."

"You're calling a music broadcast from the bank's intercom a _diversion_? That's why you _conveniently_ left the exit unguarded? To turn off an _ordinary_ _radio_ in case it was a _bomb_?" The young hero's voice was reaching pitches unnatural to a post-adolescent boy. A little voice in his head urged the former Robin to point that out, but he wisely chose to avoid that landmine. "Seriously, Nightwing, if you can't handle this guy, I'm coming with you next time he strikes—"

"She."

Superboy's brows furrowed. "She?"

Nightwing broke into an almost childish beam. "Yeah. The 'Phantom Thief' is a girl."

Silence settled awkwardly over the two—the kind of silence that wedges itself between outbursts to allow for expressions on disbelief to be exchanged—and nestled between the darkened buildings around them, almost resuming the nighttime quiet that should have occupied the empty street. Then, Superboy's palm connected with his face with a loud smack.

"Please tell me you haven't fallen to Wally's level," he groaned.

Dick let out a laugh and turned on his heel to practically prance away. "Oh please, I don't flirt with every girl in sight. Even if she was cute…"

"You stupid—Get back here, I'm not done talking to you!"

Nightwing's cackles and Superboy's loud complaints bounced between the buildings and mingled with their own echoes as the two young men dashed off towards the League headquarters, bickering and laughing and dodging playful punches. Two stories above them, swathed in the stark shadows cast by the streetlights, a pair of brown eyes followed their path into the distant horizon. Stepping forward to lean over the balcony railing of her apartment, the so-called "Phantom Thief" flipped back her hood and pulled her hair out of its ponytail. Nightwing and Superboy vanished around a corner a few blocks away, and with their voices rapidly fading, she allowed herself the satisfied smirk of one who knows she has won.

Twirling on the ball of her foot, the thief snatched up the briefcase leaning against the wall behind her and slipped through the sliding glass door, flopping onto her bed with the case resting on her stomach. The breeze rustled her hair as a baroque ring was slid off of her finger, and with a twist of the bezel she found herself holding an ornate lock pick, which she then inserted into one of the case's two keyholes. The corner of her mouth twitched upward when she heard the lock click open.

"So this is your hideout?"

She flinched so violently that her ring flew out of her grasp and bounced onto the carpet, the lock pick still jutting out of it. The silhouetted figure leaning in her doorway grinned and nonchalantly invited himself in.

"Isn't it a little dark in here?" Nightwing remarked brightly, reaching for the light switch. The girl launched herself at him with an aggravated growl, sending them both tumbling to the floor in a heap. As opposed to her plans, though, Nightwing was the one who wound up on top, a victorious grin on his face. She groaned loudly.

"Really?" she snapped.

"Really what?" was the innocent response.

"How did you figure out where I was?"

"Eh, I just stuck a tracker on the briefcase you stole. No biggie. I ditched Superboy a few blocks down," he added, noticing her sudden discomfort.

"Great," she responded flatly, inching her way out from under him. "So now you take back the case and everybody lives happily ever after."

"Not quite."

"Oh, that's right—except for the evil thief," she amended, furtively creeping for the switchblade in her pocket, "who rots in jail for the next few years—_oof!_" She had taken a wild swing at him but wound up disarmed and pinned.

Nightwing laughed cheekily. "You know, I have to admit I've fought worse. A _lot_ worse. When I was thirteen."

"I get it, I'm an amateur," she replied irritably. "I thought it was a little strange that I was able to give you the slip so easily, but you seemed like you had given up. Besides, I got away from you the last time."

"Not so much 'you got away' as 'I let you get away.'" She shot him a look. "Hey, you said it yourself—amateur."

"Just get off me."

To her surprise, he obliged and even extended a hand to help her up, which she took cautiously. Now on his feet, Nightwing bent down and scooped up her dropped lock pick ring and held it up to the sparse light to inspect it.

"Interesting," he remarked. "I heard they only made four of these. Did you steal it?"

"What do you think?" Her reply was equal parts ambiguity and sarcasm as she crossed behind him to her bed, turning the case around to frown distastefully at the remaining lock. Nightwing shrugged, still examining her ring. Last time he had it, she recalled, she had snatched it back from him and taken off like a bullet, utterly appalled at herself for having dropped it. That ring was her treasure—and a pretty useful treasure to boot.

"It's still dark in here," Nightwing suddenly commented. "Why didn't you want me to turn on the light?"

"What makes you think I didn't want you to turn it on?"

"You tackled me to the ground."

"Oh. Well, for one, you appeared out of freaking nowhere and startled me. Plus I don't really want you to see my face without my hood on."

"I already know who you are. I have face-recognition software."

"That figures," she muttered, watching him fiddle with the ring. It only fit up to the second joint on his pinky finger, but otherwise he seemed completely infatuated with it. "So why do you chase me down instead of just arresting me while I'm in civilian clothing?"

He hummed thoughtfully, still absorbed. "I guess I just like the hunt."

"The hunt." More sarcasm. He chuckled.

"You know. Chasing you around. It's like a game, you know? And the game gets pretty boring when you take your turn when the other person isn't playing. I've always loved games, so I know the aesthetics." Tucking the pick back into the band of the ring, he clicked the bezel back into place and turned to return it to her. "But I guess an 'amateur' wouldn't get…that…"

She was gone, along with the briefcase. The front door was swinging on its hinges and he could just make out the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall. Letting out a breathy laugh of disbelief, Nightwing took a step towards the door and then paused, turning his gaze to the ring in his hand. She had left it behind even though the last time they met she had grabbed it back like a prize possession. Plus she still needed it to unlock that briefcase.

"Oh." The single syllable broke the night air, followed by a laugh. "I guess you _do_ understand the aesthetics."

Dick Grayson smirked and closed his fist around the ring, and Nightwing leapt off the balcony to give chase, just like she knew he would. The sound of light footsteps danced across the city, tailed by a phantom cackle that told her he would win this game yet.

**Not so happy with the closing...meh. Well, hope you liked it. :)**


End file.
